


Pro Domo

by Liondragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Action, Future, M/M, Past Hydra, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Prompt Fill, Science Fiction, Wakanda, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7115263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Liondragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mini-fill for <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/21013.html?thread=52953877#t52953877">Avengers kink meme</a>, which is inadequate for the prompt, so I hope someone properly fills it. Free for remix. Alternately titled Pro Patria Mori This, Losers or Where Are We Going? or You're My World, Bro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pro Domo

Bucky comes to as the world shakes itself apart, and his first thought is he's been thawed out in a cargo plane, again, and that means cover heavy enough to hide a plane. This better not be the fucking jungle again. 

His second thought is it's Armageddon and he'd like to fight on the side of angels, but he's not sure they'd let him in without... 

"Steve," he murmurs.

"Hush a second," Steve says. Bucky hushes like they're back in old Brooklyn, crouching in an alley waiting for their pursuers to run past. 

The world's still shaking. Bucky realizes the Wakandan facility is shaking, and despite the pins and needles he swings a leg up to yank Steve to the side, under the worktable, as a buzzing projectile whizzes to the pod where he'd been frozen and silently blows it to bits.

"Thanks," Steve says breathlessly, the same time as Bucky says, "None too soon." Steve grins at him. A sight for sore eyes.

"No distractions," Bucky admonishes. "Got a gun?"

"Uh, yeah, here," and Lord, Steven Grant Rogers is blushing. Just for that, Bucky picks his pocket. Bucky doesn't want to know how it went to Hell so fast, though given the amount of trouble Steve can get into unattended, he's not real surprised.

"Vision functional up to 50 meters, peripheral field still fuzzy," he reports. "I'm mobile. This tinkertoy work like usual?"

In answer, Steve pops over the table and sprays their attackers with projectiles from a slightly larger gun on his wrist. "No kickback. Here, try not to wick out when it hugs you," and he tosses a heavy cloth at Bucky's center of mass. Bucky is mostly flustered that he allowed Steve to do that, before it crawls over his midsection and secures itself. Tactical vest. Swanky.

"C'mon," says Steve. "We've got to make it to the transporters."

"I should ask for a fucking countersign," Bucky says, his brain finally kicking in. Steve looks the same, but he's different, significantly older than a few years, and the layer of dust tells him no technician, Wakandan or otherwise, has been to this facility in a long time. The biggest gut-punch is that Steve looks at him like he's the little brother, fond and amused of him as Bucky was when Ruthie would show him her play tea set.

Even if Hydra had never trained him for it, Bucky was ready for the future long before he went to war. He followed his share of adventure serials. Robots. Clones. _Brainwashing._ Hell, this might not even be real.

They duck through the corridors, silent by necessity. Every now and then the floors tilt.

Steve taps his metal stump. "What kinda countersign d'you want?"

Bucky turns on him without breaking cover, forearm almost to his throat before Steve's tactical vest shoots up to protect his neck.

The patronizing look vanishes. He glances at Bucky's gun fisted close to his ear, but Bucky's too good to make a mistake even with unfamiliar weaponry. "Why," Steve says, "d'you gotta make me feel like I'm sixteen again. Every goddamn time."

Bucky feels his face peel back in a grin. "'Cause." He steals a kiss, fresh as fruit on the vine, and rolls back to take rear guard. He's not distracted. "How many years?"

"Sixty."

Bucky nearly whistles. "What happened to T'Challa?"

"He had to close the country again as threats escalated," Steve says as they sneak up an elevator shaft. "Place it behind a vibranium wall. Force fields. Traps. I figured you'd be safe, no matter what. They never stopped working on the... I'm sorry I didn't come for you earlier."

"Nevermind it. But is he...?" Bucky swings up, oddly grateful that Steve isn't coddling him with his one arm as they free-climb up the shaft.

"Classified," Steve decides. Then he winks, launching the last meter into an open floor. "You'll see in a second." He extends an arm and Bucky jumps, it's Steve there to catch him after all, he doesn't care if this is compulsion or programming or an old bad habit, this time Bucky's not afraid to follow. 

Might be interesting.

The transporters look nothing like Star Trek and more like cheap Soviet shower curtains. Bucky tells Steve as much.

"Original? When did you see Star Trek?"

"They dubbed it in Romania." Bucky glances at the contraption, then at the twin panthers guarding it. He suspects they're not decoration. "Can we go together?"

Steve smiles like the sun. Tiny crow's feet gather at his eyes, like his face doesn't know what they're there for. "Sure, pal."

They hold hands. Steve's bearing his weapon like he carried the shield. Some things never change.

It's not until Bucky stumbles out of the transporter platform and looks out the viewport at a star-filled vista that he gives in to the urge to punch Steve in the arm. _Spaceships._ And not just any spaceships. All of Wakanda is floating in space.

"What the Hell, Steve," Bucky says.

"Here we are," says Steve.

 


End file.
